“His car came for him at the other side of the
wood,” he explained. “He was wanted
to go on the Bench. I elected to walk home.”

“And the woodcock?” she asked. “I
adore woodcock.”

He produced one from his pocket, took up her felt
hat, which was lying amongst the bracken, and busied
himself insinuating the pin feathers under the silk
band.

“There,” he said, handing it to her, “the
first woodcock of the season. We got four, and
I really only accepted one in the hope that you would
like it. I shall leave it with the estimable
Mills, on my return.”

“You must come and share it,” Philippa
insisted. “Those boys of Nora’s
are coming in to dinner. Your gift shall be the
piece de resistance.”

“Then may I dine another night?” he begged.
“This place encourages in me the grossest of
appetites.”

“Have no fear,” she replied. “You
will never see that woodcock again. I shall
have it for my luncheon to-morrow. I ordered
dinner before I came out, and though it may be a simple
feast, I promise that you shall not go away hungry.”

“Will you promise that you will never send me
away hungry?” he asked, dropping his voice for
a moment.

She turned and studied him. Helen, who had strolled
a few yards away, was knee-deep in the golden brown
bracken, picking some gorgeously coloured leaves from
a solitary bramble bush. Lessingham had thrown
his cap onto the ground, and his wind-tossed hair and
the unusual colour in his cheeks were both, in their
way, becoming. His loose but well-fitting country
clothes, his tie and soft collar, were all well-chosen
and suitable. She admired his high forehead and
his firm, rather proud mouth. His eyes as well
as his tone were full of seriousness.

“You know that you ought to be saying that to
some Gretchen away across that terrible North Sea,”
she laughed.

“There is no Gretchen who has ever made my heart
shake as you do,” he whispered.

She picked up her hat and sighed.

“Really,” she said, “I think things
are quite complicated enough as they are. I
am in a flutter all day long, as it is, about your
mission here and your real identity. I simply
could not include a flirtation amongst my excitements.”

“I have never flirted,” he assured her
gravely.

“Wise man,” she pronounced, rising to
her feet. “Come, let us go and help Helen
pick leaves. She is scratching her fingers terribly,
and I’m sure you have a knife. A dear,
economical creature, Helen,” she added, as they
strolled along. “I am perfectly certain
that those are destined to adorn my dining-table,
and, with chrysanthemums at sixpence each, you can’t
imagine how welcome they are. Come, produce
the knife, Mr. Lessingham.”